


Silver Linings

by colonel_bastard



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bodily Fluids, Dysphoria, Established Relationship, Gender Dysphoria, Intimacy, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Teasing, Trans Male Character, Trans Peter Parker, Trust, Validation, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23269108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonel_bastard/pseuds/colonel_bastard
Summary: “Okay,” Peter pants. “You don’t— you don’t have to keep going. That’s good. I’m good.”“What?” Beck scoffs. “No way, kid. I promised you five, I’m giving you five.”Peter gets self-conscious. Beck gives him some perspective.
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 209





	Silver Linings

**Author's Note:**

> my friends i have written _dozens_ of love scenes over the years but this is the _first_ time i have ever written one for a trans man like myself and i cannot even begin to tell you.............. how nervous i am
> 
> with that being said this fic is basically nonstop self-indulgence and wish fulfillment so uhhhhhhh everyone gather round and let's all read my diary
> 
> yes i listened to lady gaga's [stupid love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lLOhp35sdO4) on a permanent loop while writing this

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By the third orgasm Peter is just about completely dehydrated. He might as well have been put through a literal wringer because he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have a single drop of moisture left inside his body. It’s all on the outside now, and it’s a goddamn mess. He’s as wet as he’s ever been in his life— and that’s in more ways than one, his eyes running with overstimulated tears and his skin drenched in sweat, leaving a dark shadow on the sheets beneath him in the shape of a snow angel gone chaotically awry. Even his throat is parched, any and all available saliva having been diverted into the stream of drool that keeps leaking out of his gaping, wheezing mouth, too busy moaning to even stop and swallow the excess. Forget taking a shower; he’s gonna need to be hosed down by the time they’re done. 

He rides the crest of the latest wave for as long as he can. Finally the climax breaks from pleasure into— well, not quite _pain_ , but it’s definitely too _much_ pleasure, and with a gasp and a jerk of his hips he forces his garbled whining to coalesce into words. 

“ _Nnnh_ — okay, okay— red— _red_ —”

Right away Beck lifts his head from between Peter’s thighs, the pressure released and Peter’s cock left to jerk and pulse with the aftershocks, his hips twitching in a feeble counterpoint rhythm as he labors to catch his breath. Even with one arm flung over his eyes, he knows that Beck is admiring the view— when Peter groans at a particularly forceful throb, he hears Beck groan at the same time, not in response to the sensation but to the _sight_. That only makes Peter fling his other arm up in embarrassment, the two limbs joined to form a protective cage over his face, shielding him from view. 

“Okay,” he pants. “You don’t— you don’t have to keep going. That’s good. I’m good.” 

“What?” Beck scoffs. “No way, kid. I promised you five, I’m giving you five.”

Peter tries and fails to contain his full-body shudder, his arms tightening around his head to hide his flushed, flustered face. 

“That’s okay,” he says feebly. “Really. I don’t— I’m not— I don’t even know if I can do five, anyway. It’s fine. You can stop.”

There’s a contemplative pause that almost makes him shudder again just from the way he can feel Beck _watching_ him. Peter doesn’t dare look, keeping his head wrapped up like a hermit crab until Beck gives the inside of his thighs a light, coaxing pat. 

“Hey.” _Pat, pat_. “Hey, c’mon, pretty thing. Let me see that face.”

With an enormous effort Peter lets down his guard, his arms slowly lowered to his belly, pausing only to give his face a quick, dry scrub with his hands. It takes another enormous effort to finally tear his gaze away from the ceiling, meekly looking down the length of his body to meet Beck’s eyes with his own.

“Peter—” Beck starts to say. 

But Peter’s already given a startled yelp and jerked his eyes back up to the ceiling, both hands clapped over his mouth in absolute mortification. 

“Peter—” Beck says again, this time audibly struggling not to laugh. 

“Oh my _god_ —” Peter squeaks from under his hands. 

“Peter,” Beck finally pulls himself together enough to say it. “Does this look like the face of a man who wants to stop?”

When Peter musters up the courage to look again, he can feel his eyes go huge with amazement while Beck just grins at him, shamelessly displaying the fact that nearly his entire beard is slick and glazed with a thorough coating of Peter’s arousal. Jesus Christ, he looks like he’s been drinking from a trough— like he’s been taking a goddamn swim in it— while Peter gapes in disbelief, Beck lazily runs his tongue around the full circumference of his lips like a cat licking the cream from its whiskers. 

“I don’t know about you,” he says. “But I’m having a great time.” 

“I’m sorry,” Peter blurts out through his fingers. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry—”

Beck’s smug grin is gone in an instant, his brow furrowing in a mixture of confusion and concern. 

“Hey, whoa, whoa,” he interjects. “What are you talking about? Sorry for what?”

But all of a sudden Peter doesn’t even know where to start. He’s just so sticky and smelly and gross— he’s so _wet_ — on a nervous impulse he drops a hand between his legs to cover the worst of it, his other arm flung back over his eyes to protect himself. 

“I’m— I’m sorry I’m— such a mess.” The words come pouring out of him in a jittery rush, his voice uncomfortably high and tight. “I know it’s not— it’s not what you—”

Beck cuts him off, his tone gentle but firm. “Okay, that’s enough.” 

Peter catches his breath in a hiccup, wriggling his arm back and forth over his eyes to scrub up the tears before Beck can see them. He’s worried that Beck might try to move his hand away from covering himself, but a moment later he feels both of Beck’s hands settle carefully on his knees instead, almost like he wants to make sure that Peter knows where they are even if he can’t look. The thoughtfulness of the gesture does not go unnoticed.

“You know what, Peter?” Beck’s tone has switched to something light and friendly, almost conversational. “I’d like to tell you a little something about myself. This is something that I’ve known about myself for a long, long time. It’s something that I would say is very important to me, something that has influenced, uh, quite a few decisions over the course of my life. Probably a few too many, if I’m being perfectly frank. Do you want to know what it is?”

By now both of Peter’s hands are resting quietly on his stomach, his gaze directed up towards the ceiling with all the calm of a stargazer. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Tell me.”

“I’ll tell you if you look at me.”

After a beat of consideration, Peter lifts his head, then props himself up on his elbows, looking down to see Beck waiting patiently between his open legs, his mouth curling into a crooked smile when Peter at last meets his gaze. Peter can’t help but smile back.

“Okay,” he says. “Now tell me.” 

“All right,” Beck says. “You want to know the truth? Here it is.” He heaves a dramatic sigh, his eyes rolled up towards the heavens for his confession. “I just really, really love sucking cock.”

Peter hiccups again, his hands tightening into fists in the damp sheets. 

“Oh, uh— really?’

“Oh my god, _yes_ ,” Beck nods rapturously, his eyes drifting closed as he savors the very idea. “I can’t get _enough_ of it. The sense of power, the— _thrill_ of accomplishment— honestly, nothing makes me feel more like a man than making another man come in my mouth.”

When he opens his eyes again, he catches Peter hastily scrubbing away his tears with the heel of his hand. Beck is gracious enough to make no comment on the matter. 

“Now,” he says instead, his voice dipping into a low purr, his hands tightening possessively on Peter’s knees. “How do you think it makes me feel when I get to make _my_ man come over… and over… and over again?”

The last hiccup comes out more like a sob, but it’s a giddy sound, a relieved sound as Peter sits up the rest of the way to meet Beck in an eager, sloppy kiss, Beck’s hands lifted immediately to cradle Peter’s head. God, Peter can taste himself all over Beck’s mouth, a familiar tang that suddenly seems so unfamiliar now that he’s not tasting it on his own fingers. He tries to chase after it when Beck breaks away from him, but Beck just steadies and supports his head so that he can move his lips across Peter’s face, kissing at the tear tracks while Peter pants and moans and clings to his wrists. Beck follows the trails down to Peter’s jawline, his tongue lapping at the places where they’ve pooled, determined to taste it all. He’s just about licked Peter clean by the time he pulls back to look at him, his expression immeasurably fond. 

“So how about it, kid?” he wonders. “You think you’re up for two more?”

Peter actually has to blink a few times, momentarily too dazed to respond. Then all at once his smile turns sly, his fingers drumming a teasing rhythm against Beck’s wrists.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe if you ask me nicely.”

Instantly Beck’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he realizes the size of the bargaining chip he just placed squarely into Peter’s hands. Peter has to bite his lip to keep from grinning too wide, somehow managing to tilt his head to a challenging angle instead, his own eyebrows raised in expectation. A moment later and Beck schools his consternation into a polite, submissive expression. 

“Please, sir,” he says, his voice a husky murmur. “May I suck your cock?”

Now it’s his turn to grin as Peter succumbs to another full-body shudder, keenly aware that the flow of his arousal has continued unabated, his cock still swollen and aching, not just ready for more but _desperate_ for it. Man, they really should have put down a towel. 

“Are you sure?” Peter mumbles, still hardly able to believe it. 

By way of an answer Beck draws him into another deep kiss, his hands still cradling Peter’s face while Peter’s hands find their way into the thick tangle of Beck’s hair. He’s been growing it out. Peter can’t get enough of it— he wonders if he’ll ever have the confidence to grow his hair out like that someday. 

“Come on, baby,” Beck breathes into Peter’s mouth, nuzzling their foreheads together. “Don’t make me beg.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Peter wheezes, nodding his head against Beck’s. “That definitely counts as asking nicely.” 

Beck chuckles in satisfaction as Peter sinks back onto the bed— he almost goes all the way down, but on second thought he keeps his elbows propped behind him, his head held up so he can watch. 

“I, uh—” he licks his lips, his stomach fluttering with nerves. “I don’t even know if I have any more in me.”

“Only one way to find out.” Beck licks his lips too, for different reasons. “But don’t push yourself too hard, okay? It’s fine if you need to tap out.” He turns his head to press a kiss to Peter’s inner thigh. “I mean it. You’ve already done so, so great.”

“Yeah, right,” Peter gives a shaky laugh, flustered by the praise. “I’m just glad my ears haven’t popped yet.”

Beck gives him an uncertain half-smile. “And what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Oh, uh,” Peter gestures at one ear with a spinning index finger. “You know how sometimes when you come too hard, you can kind of go deaf for a little while? It always messes up my balance for like, an hour. It sucks.” He gives a huff of mock-remorse. “Man, I just jinxed it, they’re _definitely_ gonna pop now.” 

He laughs with the expectation that Beck will laugh with him in sympathy— but instead Beck just stares at him in total disbelief, his eyes so wide and incredulous that Peter might as well have just told him that he sometimes takes vacations on the moon. 

“Hold on, hold on, hold on,” Beck says, both hands raised like he’s trying to stop a speeding car. “Are you seriously telling me right now… that sometimes you come _so hard_ … that you actually go _deaf?_ ”

“Uh… just for a little while.” Eyes darting from side to side, Peter fidgets his hands uncertainly in the sheets. “Do, uh… do not all guys have that?”

Now Beck laughs, low and breathless, shaking his head in wonder as he sinks indolently back into the space between Peter’s thighs. 

“Not all guys, Peter,” he says, his eyes bright with admiration. “Only the lucky ones.”

In the end they make it up to six before Peter taps out. 

_end.


End file.
